


What's on the Menu

by Dawnwind



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M, Sexy Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 09:23:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17526071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: Fun in bed, and what leads up to it.





	What's on the Menu

What’s on the Menu  
By Dawnwind

It had hurt his healing body worse than he’d expected, and yet the sex had been brilliant, smashing, stupendous—all the best superlatives. Sex with Bodie always was grand, but this had been…words failed him.

Doyle laughed, dozing in a glorious post-coital bliss. This was better than the morphine the doctors had given him after surgery. 

“Wot you laughing about?” Bodie chuckled. Lying with his head on Doyle’s chest, the vibrations of his laughter transmitted love through Doyle’s ribcage straight to his heart.

“You.” Doyle managed to slot open an eye to look down on the tousled brown mop of hair that was all he could really see of Bodie at this angle. “For months we’ve been circling each other, you afraid I’d break if you went down on me.”

“You doubting me.” Bodie shifted onto the pillow so he could look more squarely at Doyle.

The only problem was that left a cold spot where his head had been. “Pull over the duvet, be a good lad?” Doyle asked instead of replying to the original comment. It was—and wasn’t true. He hadn’t doubted Bodie’s love, just that it was what Bodie needed at the time. 

Back in November, they’d launched into the wonderful and dizzying world of sex with each other after an operation that had gone spectacularly and supremely wrong. Holed up in a hotel, shell-shocked at the disastrous turn of events, they’d leaned against one another, collapsing onto a narrow bed as if their legs couldn’t hold them up one moment longer. A child orphaned, her mother shot by the IRA. It should not have happened like that.

Doyle had looked at Bodie, unable to express his sorrow, and found himself hopelessly mired in blue eyes. The kiss was like a firecracker going off, and afterward neither had known who kissed whom first.

They’d driven back to London in a romantic haze. Participated in a few more operations, and then, on a day which had seemed both fraught and ordinary, Doyle was shot at point blank range in his own lounge.

Coming back from that moment was the work of months. Surgery, pain, a slow recovery—they’d held fast to one another and yet never been farther apart, even living in the same flat. Doyle had watched Bodie’s detachment, his fear at losing Doyle turn into dogged dependence on the job with no emotion or passion left over for home life.

He’d vowed to change that. Yesterday, he’d laid his trap, softening Bodie up with a full on English brekker, eggs, sausage, rashers of bacon, a tomato, and toast, with a pot of strong tea. He’d walked around the flat wearing as little as possible for late February—track pants and a tight t-shirt. Seen Bodie’s eyes following him every moment of the day.  
Still, Doyle held back, wanting Bodie to make the first move. They’d slept in the same bed, which was nothing new, the night through, leading Doyle into a false sense that Bodie would not succumb.

Dawn had heralded streaky golden light into their bedroom when Bodie launched his offensive. He’d shoved a hand into Doyle’s pyjama bottoms, grabbing onto sensitive body parts. “These are the bangers and eggs I want to eat this morning,” he announced with winking authority, and set to it, going down on Doyle’s offerings with obvious delight.

Doyle had laughed, and loved, and lived.


End file.
